


After

by icylook



Series: After (TSSW) [1]
Category: The Soul Stone War - Morgan Vane
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Domestic, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:20:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23092495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icylook/pseuds/icylook
Summary: “Took you long enough. Did you fight with Ori for the coriander?” Straasa asks, though there’s no hint of real reprimand in his voice, and Valerian smiles sheepishly at him.“I got distracted.” He moves from the entrance to let Morkai enter with his cargo. “A bit.” Valerian adds, glancing at Morkai’s back and Straasa’s gaze wanders to him as well. “What can I say, I’m irresistable,” the redhead says as he’s done with throwing the wood to the basket near the iron cooker.
Relationships: Manerkol/MC, Morkai/MC/Straasa
Series: After (TSSW) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1849618
Kudos: 16





	After

A refreshing smell of the herbs growing under the open window wafts into the kitchen, along with the rhythmic sound of someone chopping the wood. 

Valerian critically looks at the pan with frying meat, and stirs the bubbling vegetable stew, watching the contents of the pot for signs of spilling over. He uses a wooden spoon to scoop a bit of the stew for a quick taste, blowing at it before he brings it to his mouth. A little too bland, he thinks, as he reaches for shelf with small jars of spices near the heavy iron cooker, idly listening to Straasa’s quiet humming. His hand hovers above the spices and Valerian glances over his shoulder at Straasa, watching the muscles of his back and arms moving subtly under thin shirt, the man busy with kneading dough for apple pies. Despite being focused on the task, his face is clear and relaxed, quiet song under his breath and Valerian’s lips quirk up involuntarily. 

“Straasa?”

A quick look of blue eyes and absent hum answers him. Valerian comes closer to the man, hand under the spoon full of the stew.

“Taste this for me?” He blows a bit at the spoon to cool it, before he reaches up to offer it to Straasa’s mouth, “And do tell me, if I should add more of the spice, or if Morkai’s taste buds will rebel.”

“Anything a bit too spicy makes him do that.” Straasa snorts with amusement, hands full of sticky dough, leaning his head down for taking the spoon into his mouth, “Careful, it’s still hot,” Valerian warns him before his lips close on it. There’s a streak of flour at the side of his temple, and Valerian notices some of it on Straasa’s other cheek. 

Straasa’s brows furrow for a moment, “I’d add more of dried pepper, the sweet kind,” he says with a smile, “we don’t want a repeat of the chilli accident, yeah?” Blue eyes twinkle with amusement and Valerian grins. 

“As much as it pains me to deny myself the proper taste, we really _don’t_ need Morkai moaning about fire in his mouth for next week.” Valerian steps closer to Straasa, bringing his hand up to his face “You have flour here,” he brushes his fingers over the skin, partially successful with cleaning it up, “and here,” he gently prods at Straasa’s face, the man turning his face patiently into Valerian’s touch.

“Thank you.” He whispers with soft smile, swiftly placing warm lips over Valerian’s wrist, briefly kissing the delicate skin. 

Valerian’s light smirk stretches into a grin, and he holds onto Straasa’s face with both hands, mindful of the spoon, and gives him few quick kisses before he steps back. He smirks again at the sight of Straasa’s look, reaching up to put a stray lock of dark hair behind his ear. 

“I think fresh herbs will do well with the stew.” Straasa nods and goes back to kneading dough, Valerian walking to the doors leading to their little garden. The sounds of wood chopping is still in the air, along with a stray song of birds and gentle hum of leaves from the trees surrounding their cottage. He glances at Ori, standing nearby the tall grass at the corner of their possession, ears and tail flickering as she’s busy lazily chewing it. Valerian’s pleased at seeing that most of the bees-luring flowers are safe from his trusty mule’s teeth, and comes to a stop at the garden, looking for fresh coriander at the herbs patch, crouching to gather some. 

He hears Morkai working steadily at the wood blocks at the back of the cottage and he rounds a corner when he’s done with cutting the herbs, a bunch of them in his hand. He watches as the redhead brings the axe down onto the block, wood splintering easily into neat parts, Morkai swiftly throwing it at the impressive pile nearby. The sun’s up with no clouds in the sky, the canopy of trees only shelter from its merciless rays. The summer’s hot this year, though it rains as often as it’s sunny. But still, today the air’s full of warmth and slight dampness, mingling into heat that threatens to be sweltering tomorrow. Valerian makes a mental note to mix a potion that’d help him with summoning ice without straining his magic the next day, as he’s sure both he and the men will be a sweaty mess without it.

Morkai stops briefly to use the bottom of his sleeveless shirt to wipe the sweat from his brow, and Valerian shifts at the nice display of his abdomen. His fingers itch to touch, to run his hands down pale skin, feel the shift of hard muscles. He knows he’ll never get tired of it, both the view and silent awe buried deep in his soul at being able to get so close to the man that he could melt into his embrace, _let go_ and wouldn’t regret it one bit. Valerian swallows at sudden dryness in his throat, and leaves the herbs at the barrel standing at the cottage’s wall, dipping a mug attached to it and walking to Morkai, who’s casually leaning on one arm watching him approach. 

Few strands of auburn hair escaped its braid and get into his eyes, though it seems it doesn’t bother him much at the moment. His green gaze is unwavering, lips stretching into smirk, as he wordlessly takes the mug from Valerian’s hand as soon as he’s in reaching distance. 

Valerian’s looking at Morkai’s throat working as he swallows, head tilted back, skin on Morkai’s face, neck and shoulders reddened a bit thanks to the effort and sun peeking through branches. The shirt clings to his chest, a patch of fabric darkened with sweat, and Valerian subtly breaths in the mixed scent of labor and soap, briefly basking in the presence of warm body next to him. At least thanks to the weather doing the laundry isn’t as bothersome, clothes drying up nearly in minutes, he thinks. 

“Came to help me?” Gruff voice teases him out from his staring and he shakes his head with a smirk.

“And lessen your workload? I think it’s good training for these arms of yours, you gotta keep them in shape.” He’s stepping back, bringing his hands up, grin full of mirth. Morkai’s playful sneer is his only warning and he isn’t quick enough, or _doesn’t want_ to be fast enough, to dodge the hands that reach for his waist. His palms splay on hard chest, the warmth of Morkai’s body nearly scorching in the heat of the day and he laughs freely at the tickling sensation of Morkai’s gentle nips at the side of his neck, instinctively hunching his shoulders up to avoid it and losing. The hands on his hips squeeze with dark chuckle near his jaw, Morkai’s lips leaving hot trail on his skin and he leans back a bit, shifting until he can bring his arms around Morkai’s neck, fingers tangling into silky auburn hair and _pulling,_ until he hears a growl that brings a pleasant shiver down his spine. 

Forest green eyes peer into his golden ones, a whirlwind of desire and sudden urgency, before Valerian’s smirking lips are crashing with Morkai’s hungry mouth. He gasps and there’s no place for subtlety or slowness in the kiss, full of teeth nipping on his lips, tongue teasing his own, insistent and demanding, just as the touch on Valerian’s back, strong arms holding onto his body, bringing him close, _closer_ to Morkai. Valerian gives as much as he gets, clawing at Morkai’s hair until he more feels than hears the growl building in his chest, Morkai’s fingers digging into his flesh on the verge of painful until he relents, both of them breathing harder than before. Morkai licks Valerian’s lips, soothing some of the sting his teeth left, visibly pleased with them reddened and wet. 

Valerian huffs at the smug face and leans his forehead on Morkai’s as soon as the man leans down to do so, fingers leaving their death grip on the redhead's hair and gently brushing Morkai’s nape instead. 

They’re silent and Valerian steps back as soon as Morkai’s grip slackens and gathers the mug back to barrel, taking the herbs with him. He glances at Morakai’s bulging arms, muscles working under the weight of logs of wood he gathered to bring back into the cottage. His steps are light, Morkai following him back to the kitchen and the smell of baking apples hits them as soon as they step into it. Straasa looks at them from the table, busy with laying the dishes, the pot with stew in the middle, plates full of slices of bread and fried meat. 

“Took you long enough. Did you fight with Ori for the coriander?” Straasa asks, though there’s no hint of real reprimand in his voice, and Valerian smiles sheepishly at him.

“I got distracted.” He moves from the entrance to let Morkai enter with his cargo. “A bit.” Valerian adds, glancing at Morkai’s back and Straasa’s gaze wanders to him as well.

“What can I say, I’m irresistible.” The redhead says as he’s done with throwing the wood to the basket near the iron cooker. He stretches with arms up until something in his back pops and he groans. Straasa smiles at him, sorting the forks and knives for their use, Valerian rinsing and chopping the herb. “Go clean up a bit before you eat.”

Morkai grunts in affirmative as he casually takes off his shirt, wiping his chest and back of his neck. “No potatoes?” He grumbles as he eyes the table.

Valerian snorts, sitting down at the table, “They were waiting for your nimble fingers and superior skills with blade,” he continues despite Morkai’s green eyes narrowing, “and were truly disappointed when you didn’t come.” 

“You little… Straasa told me to chop the wood for next few days.”

“A pile as high as I? Sure.” Valerian lifts an eyebrow, seeing Straasa’s mouth twitch out of the corner of his eye. “Just say you didn’t want to peel the potatoes, and I’ll forgive you.” He grins at Morkai’s scowl. “Maybe.” 

Morkai shakes his head and swiftly walks out of the kitchen, grumbling something about _ungrateful brats_ and _mashed potatoes_. Valerian looks at quietly chuckling Straasa, putting food on his plate. Valerian follows him in this, sprinkling the food with fresh herb, pointedly leaving lots of green chopped leaves on Morkai’s plate. They talk, waiting for the redhead being done with cleaning up, Straasa getting up once to check on pies in the oven. And when Morkai sits at the table, shirt fresh and clean, droplets of water still clinging to his skin, their voices carry through the open window, playful gruff mixed with gentle laugh and teasing banter. 

Outside, Ori flicks her ear at a particular loud shriek of her human friend choking with giggles and screaming for mercy as he’s most likely tickled to death. She continues to chew on sweet grass, quiet pleased noise escaping her throat, relaxed, idly listening to the sounds from the cottage.

* * *

He’s laughing so hard there’re tears in his eyes, Morkai’s fingers unrelenting and easily digging into his weak spots and he squirms under the assault. Valerian blinks through the tears and the world blurs, and twists. 

Something seeps off the warmth of the afternoon, blending into evening, darkness, and their gazes, full of fondness, blue and green dim away, and Valerian shivers. The cold starts from the top of his head, icy brush of fingertips at his wet cheeks, as low and melodious voice cuts in, “So this is the fantasy you hide yourself in, pet?”

The shudders raking his suddenly cold body grow steadily, the longer the deceptively calm voice speaks. “I showed them mercy as you begged me to, but how could I stay lenient, when they were so stubborn to _let you go,_ ” poisonous whispers swim around him, as strong fingers hold his jaw, forcing him to look up, _up_ into mad red eyes. Crimson pools of flickering cold anger, and Valerian wants to hide so badly, cowers in himself, and he’s unable to break out from the all knowing gaze, his mind open and free to play as Manerkol pleases.

His Lord. 

His King.

“It was your choice, wasn’t it? Your life for theirs.”

He doesn’t speak, a broken sound lodged into his throat tight with fear. An echo of a stray thought, 

_I wasn’t as this before, not a coward, never a coward-,_ drowns into the now.

“You know I couldn’t tolerate this behaviour. I had to teach them that my mercy has its limits. I offered them their lives and they tossed them away, when they raised a hand for something that is mine and mine alone,” harsh whisper is like a razor on his skin, cutting and bleeding him dry. 

And it hurts, and there’s a hand on his throat raising him up forcefully, his legs not cooperating from sitting so long at Manerkol’s knees, with his Lord on his throne.

Like a ragdoll he’s forced to sit on Manerkol’s lap, legs straddling his Lord’s thighs, Valerian’s hands fumbling to steady himself on the obsidian arms of throne, not touching Manerkol, but he has to touch, his King’s cold chest, covered in rich black fabric. Black as night, black as silky long hair of the man with eyes so red, bloody red, as blood spilled from _their_ bodies, broken, twisted, brilliant blue and green eyes glassy and unseeing.

_Dead, dead, dead and it’s my fault-_

Valerian whimpers when the hand in his hair twists harshly, cold lips trailing a chilly line on his neck, palm on his waist stopping him from leaning back, from squirming away as he closes his eyes, the scent of jasmine hits his nose so strongly he’s dizzy and afraid of being sick.

He swallows the growing bile in his throat just as Manerkol bites his neck, and he opens his mouth in silent scream, body going rigid with pain and bliss, making his thoughts floaty and unimportant.

His Lord’s drinking deeply, teeth lodged in firmly and the hand in Valerian’s hair feels almost like it's cradling his skull gently, his nose in Manerkol’s black hair and he sighs and lets his body go limp.

Pliable in Manerkol’s hold, his own fingers loosening hold on his King’s arms, slumping forward as Manerkol retreats his mouth from Valerian’s throat and starts to lazily lick at the wound.

“That little fantasy of yours? _Forget it._ ” The words are hissed directly into his ear.

And Valerian blinks with choked moan of despair, blinks again and he doesn’t know what he was thinking of before.

Nothing really matters to him beside the feeling of being cradled in icy grip of his Lord.

**Author's Note:**

> I could stop at the fluffy bit, but the angst of 'what if' got to me. The ending can be read as separate au, though. I have plans for two more fics with main pairing(s) °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°


End file.
